Page 84 of That Girl is Trouble

“Don’t lecture me.”

“I’m not. I’m just…” She clears her throat and releases a fortifying breath. “Well, what’s he like?”

“He’s… you know. My type.”

She snorts. “Well, that’s never good. Least I know you’re not running with one of these assholes,” she says, jerking her head towards the bar.

It’s just after ten, but the place is already packed with bodies. The music’s loud, and the men are getting rowdy.

“Right,” I say, scanning the room in search of hard lines and harsh eyes. There’s no sign of him, but I’m suddenly really interested in changing the subject. “Speaking of assholes. How’s the Grave Man? You kick him out yet?”

“Think I’m stuck with him,” Triss says with a little smirk, her face flushing. “He’s just so…”

“He’s a sex god,” Bex mutters. “His dick makes your sister’s brain stop working.”

The conversation that ensues is more of Bex demanding details of my sex life and more of Triss sliding in questions about school and whether I need money and just tell me a little more about this guy you’re seeing.

That last one makes me drain my beer, and I announce that I’m going for a refill.

“Might as well grab a pitcher, babe,” Bex says. “I gotta switch off the hard stuff if I’m gonna make my shift at the hospital tomorrow afternoon.”

Nodding, I slide out of the booth. On my way to the bar, I tug my black zip-up hoodie closed around my middle and shiver. It’s a little cool in here tonight, and while I’m pleased I opted for jeans instead of the skirt I considered, I’m regretting the cropped tank top. It looks cute, but I haven’t had enough alcohol yet to warm my blood.

I motion to Moxy for another round, and she nods, giving me an eye roll as she jerks her head to the small group of raucous bikers sitting at the far side of the bar, where some sort of argument has broken out over last night’s football game.

God, I missed this place.

“Hey, uh, it’s Kitty, right?”

I pull my attention from the bar and turn to the man next to me. I’m met with a crooked smile and fiery red hair. “Hey,” I say back. “Yeah, that’s right.”

He holds out his hand and motions for me to take it. “Rooster,” he says.

Returning his smile, I slide my palm against his. “Because of the hair?”

His smile broadens, a dimple denting in his right cheek. He’s good-looking in the way Jesse was. Tall and lean, boyish grin, a wicked playfulness flashing in his blue eyes. No doubt he’s the kind of guy who likes getting into trouble. He wears a grey Henley under his leather cut, and there’s a tattoo on his forearm peeking out at the edge of his sleeve.

“A gift and a curse,” he says as he skates his fingers through his hair. Leaning closer, keeping my hand in his, he says, “Aren’t you gonna ask if the carpet matches the drapes?”

I snort. “Seems like a pretty personal question.”

“You’re right. We can save that for our second date.”

“Our… second date?” I ask him, eyebrow arched.

“Yeah. First dates aren’t for talkin’ about each other’s junk, you know? Just don’t want you thinkin’ you’re gonna get in my pants tomorrow night when I take you out.”

I bark out a laugh. “That was pretty smooth.”

“I’m a smooth guy,” he says with another easy smile. Releasing my hand, he shuffles so close I have to crane my neck to look at him. “So? You gonna let me take you out or what?”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, babe. Just like that.”

“We’ve only just met.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Damn, I’m that forgettable, huh? We’ve met before. Few times, actually. Not, uh, officially, I guess. But back when Jess”—he pauses and then clears his throat—“well, we met before. And at the Slam that one time. Was a damn shame I didn’t win you that night.”

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